“But I didn’t mean-I didn’t want-”
“I know,” Lachlan murmured, as soothingly as he could muster. “It won’t happen again,” he promised, although it killed him. Muira started and step forwards, but this time Lachlan took a disarming step back.
“I wanted it to happen!” Muira blurted, causing her husband to gape at her. She hiccupped tearfully and Lachlan wanted so desperately to pull her into his arms and ease the pain that he had wrought that his heart physically hurt. “But I shouldn’t, should I? I shouldn’t have wanted it?” she asked pitifully.
Lachlan simply stared at her in complete confusion. “Because you’re still angry? You still hate me?” he tried tentatively. If she just answered ‘no’ to the latter question then he might let himself hope that some progress had been made, despite the disastrous outcome of the kiss.
Muira didn’t answer no, but nor did she answer yes. “Because it’s not-it’s not becoming of a lady,” she choked, bowing her head and crying harder. Lachlan suddenly thought that he knew what she was talking about, and the realisation hit him like a punch to the gut.
“Muira, there is nothing more becoming to a husband then a wife who is willing and enthusiastic in his arms,” he said carefully, casting his mind back with hungry longing to the times when it had been like that between them.
“But-” Muria sobbed. “But you said that I-that I was-”
“I said a lot of things that I shouldn’t have,” Lachlan interrupted quickly. He couldn’t bear to hear Muira repeat the cruel, vicious things that he’d said to hurt her. “A lot of things that I didn’t mean,” he added, pleadingly.
Including that he loved her? Muira wondered sorrowfully, but didn’t ask. She simply fell silent, not knowing what to say in the face of this new declaration, not knowing how to feel.
When she had found herself in her husband’s arms it had been as though she’d never left. It was as if their bodies already knew something that their minds hadn’t quite managed to comprehend yet. It felt so good, it felt so right-but Muria didn’t want it to feel good or right! Lachlan had spoilt, broken, everything that they shared, and Muira was determined to hang onto that pain, because she was afraid of what it would mean if she let it go…
..ooOOoo..
Muira slept alone again that night. Lachlan hadn’t once made a move to try and share their bed, not since he had brought her back to Eilean Donan after she had tried to flee to Castle Cameron. Muira had slept in a bed on her own for eighteen long years before marrying Lachlan, and yet she missed her husband’s presence bitterly. It wasn’t only the act of the lovemaking that she missed (although she admonished herself for this), it was the simple companionship, of knowing that Lachlan was there beside her, ready to take her into his arms and hold her tenderly against his chest.
For his part, Lachlan would have liked nothing better than to slide between the sheets of the bed he had shared with Muira, and to drag his wife against his body-except that he didn’t dare, and given what had happened earlier that evening, Lachlan could only suppose this course of restraint had been the right action (or inaction) to take.
He had taken to walking the corridors of the castle at night, waiting until the clocks chimed twelve before slinking wearily back to his bedroom. By this time Muira was always asleep, and he was able to creep into his study and doze in the chair that stood by his desk. He took a masochistic kind of satisfaction from confronting the place where his crime had been committed, of reliving each painful second over in his mind until sleep took pity upon him.
It was in this state, (lying asleep over the desktop that was), that Muira found her husband the next morning. A message had just been delivered for him, sent via one of the young castle boys, and she had promised to pass it on immediately. However, she did hesitate in the doorway of the study, reluctant to re-enter the room where all her dreams had begun to be unravelled.
Muira’s hesitation did give her pause to study her husband for a moment or two however. He looked terribly uncomfortable, his large body hunched awkwardly into the small chair, but his hair was enticingly mussed, and his handsome features relaxed in sleep.
“Lachlan?” she had only to whisper his name and he was awake. He blinked several times and that looked towards her. She couldn’t quite read his expression. It seemed to be a mixture of surprise and anxiety, and maybe just a little flicker of hope?
“What’s wrong, lass?” he asked, stretching. Muira couldn’t help but watch the flex of his body with some appreciation. She caught herself staring, as the fabric of Lachlan’s shirt was pulled taut across his broad chest, and mentally rebuked herself.
“Sorcha’s boy just brought this for you,” she darted into the room and dropped a sealed slip of paper into Lachlan’s hand, cursing her body’s reaction for the way her cheeks instantly flushed at the mere brush of contact with his fingers. Fortunately, Muira considered, Lachlan wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was frowning at the note. “Bad news?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking, and then clapped a hand over her mouth, as if she feared she was speaking out of turn.
Lachlan seemed to miss this too. “Word from one of our scouts. The Cameron party will be here sooner than expected.” He looked up and glanced at a clock he had in the room. “In the next few hours by all accounts.”
“That soon?” Muira queried uncertainly.
She was looking forward to seeing her brother and cousin, but she was still a little anxious about it all, about what would happen when they arrived, about what they might be able to work out regarding her marriage to Lachlan. She didn’t even want to think about the other man rumoured to be accompanying them…
“Aye,” Lachlan murmured, running a hand over his beard. “That soon.”
“Why, do you think?” Muira pressed softly, but her husband just shrugged his shoulders and got to his feet.
“Maybe Ewan misses you?” he teased with a small smile, but that quickly faded, and his wife wasn’t quite sure why. “Well, we’d best get ready for them,” he sighed, and Muira nodded her head obediently.
..ooOOoo..
Two hours later, Lachlan was dressed and prepared to meet the Camerons-prepared to meet his brother-in-law, the man he feared had it in his power to take away his wife, and MacEantach, the man whose actions had first driven Muira into his arms.
The Laird wasn’t well enough to meet the Camerons in the courtyard, or even when they first entered the castle, they would have to be taken to his private chambers for that-so it was left to Lachlan as the MacRae’s tanist to welcome their guests. Muira was with him, waiting and not saying a word, although she kept glancing around nervously. There were a few other senior members of the clan, but not as many as would have been there, if the Camerons hadn’t brought forward their arrival time.
“Sir! Sir!” Lachlan’s nephew, Sorcha’s son came bounding into the hall. “They’re here, Uncle Lachlan,” he whispered conspiratorially, once he was close enough to do so.
Lachlan chuckled and patted the boy on the head. “Aye, I thought they might be, laddie.”
The commotion in the courtyard outside had already rather given away the Camerons arrival. Lachlan cast a glance towards Muira and then offered her his arm. The relief he felt when she took it instantly, without hesitating of flinching, was immense. He led her towards the great front doors of Eilean Donan, and then as lord and lady they waited to greet the coming party of familiar faces.
Lachlan swelled with pride when he reflected on how beautiful, how regal, Muira looked standing beside him. None of the other man had dared say a word against her in his presence. When she twisted her neck to glance up at him, Lachlan reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“It’ll be all right,” he murmured, not certain if he was speaking to reassure her or himself, as he looked out of the open doorway towards the three strapping men who were walking up the stone steps of the castle towards them.
The Laird’s son, Donaid, was in front (Lachlan hadn�
��t seen his face before, but as he was the only one of the three men he didn’t know, and as he was leading the group, Lachlan made the assumption instantly). He was following closely by Ewan MacRae, and then finally flanked by Tavish MacEantach…
Lachlan’s hand balled into a fist at his side. It was taking ever ounce of self-control that he possessed to keep him from lunging forward and pummelling the third man. He forced himself to relax however, to think of his clan, and not the offence wrought against his wife.
“Gentlemen,” Lachlan nodded his head in a slight bow and spoke when the three Cameron warriors were close enough to hear him. “Welcome to Eilean Donan Castle,” he said graciously. “It has been a great many years since we’ve seen any Cameron visitors here about.” He nodded again and introduced himself as the clan’s tanist.
“Aye, we know who you are, Lachlan MacRae,” Muira’s brother snorted wryly. He was shot a disapproving glance from his older cousin, which he ignored. “Who’s your pretty wee wife?” he grinned. “She’s far too bonnie to be a MacRae.” Lachlan rolled his eyes, but beside him Muria giggled, and took a step forward to embrace her older brother. “Oh wait, on closer inspection-” Ewan pretended to reconsider, earning himself a light jab in the ribs from his sister.
Lachlan couldn’t temper the jealousy that flared in his heart on seeing Muria so completely at ease with another man. Yes, it was her brother, and not a true rival for him to fight for her affections, but Lachlan loathed the easiness that simple existed between the two of them.
One of the older clan members standing behind him cleared his throat pointedly and Lachlan remembered himself. He formally introduced everyone present, reserving his hardness handshake and fiercest glare for MacEantach.
Muira, Lachlan was relieved to see, seemed to be coping well with the whole ordeal. She hadn’t faltered, she was keeping her head… and Lachlan felt his love for her redouble. He couldn’t-wouldn’t let these men take his wife away from him! But what if she wanted to go…?
“No doubt you want to rest and refresh yourselves after your journey,” Lachlan said to Donaid, and therefore by proxy to Ewan and Tavish.
“Oh?” Donaid frowned. “I thought the Laird-?”
Lachlan opened his mouth, he was sure that the Camerons knew of the ailing state that Graem was in… but it seemed somehow disadvantageous to remind them of this fact the very second after their arrival. However, he could barely believe his ears when Muria stepping in and rescued him.
“Donaid!” she exclaimed. “You can’t present yourself to Laird MacRae looking like that,” she said simply.
Her cousin frowned. “What’s wrong with the way-”
“Converted her into a good little MacRae wife already, have you, Lachlan?” Tavish smirked.
Lachlan saw Muria flinch, and in consequence he felt his own tongue thicken clumsily with rage, so that it was actually Ewan’s sharp: careful Tavish, that’s still my sister you’re talking about, which actually put the other man back in his place.
Lachlan reckon up the offence however, stored it away with the greater crimes that MacEantach had committed and still needed to be punished for-maybe they both needed to be punished, Lachlan reflected guiltily, but he vowed to himself that he wasn’t going to let Muira’s ex-fiancé live the rest of his life without paying for what he’d done.
Muira watched as her husband nodded for the Cameron men to be shown to their rooms. Ewan cast a questioning glance over his shoulder at her as he was ushered away, to which Muira mustered as bright a smile as she could manage.
She was shaken from seeing Tavish, although she hoped that this fact wasn’t apparent to anyone else. She deliberately avoided his gaze when he sought hers however, pretending to be absorbed in something that Lachlan was saying to one of his kinsmen. She wasn’t actually listened to a word he was saying, so she started in surprise when he turned and addressed her.
“Thank you,” he said, very simply, but so sincerely that Muira felt a genuine little smile bloom upon her face. “You couldn’t have been more perfect,” her husband added quietly.
Lachlan looked slightly awkward as he gave the compliment, but Muira couldn’t help but glow just a little. He was proud of her. She could see it in his eyes. She felt her heart give a little happy flutter, which was dampened, but not entirely stifled, by what Lachlan said next.
“I should go and tell Laird MacRae what’s happened,” he told her gently, giving her hand a light squeeze. “But did you want me to escort you back to our rooms first?” he asked, and it seemed that he couldn’t stop himself from casting a dark look in the direction that Tavish had been led.
“Oh no,” Muria said, shaking her head, watched distractedly as the other men who had been there to greet the small Cameron party dispersed. “I-I’m sure that’s not necessary.”
“It would only take a minute-” Lachlan pressed anxiously.
“Lachlan, it’s fine, really,” Muria said firmly.
She had no intention of returning immediately to their rooms… she wanted to go and see her brother too much. She didn’t know why, or what she would say, but the draw to see a friendly face, someone who loved her unconditionally, was immense.
Lachlan sighed his reluctant agreement. Muira saw him watch her out of sight however, which meant that she had to wait until she was sure that he had gone before doubling back and heading towards that wing of the castle where she knew that their guests were being installed.
She only prayed that she knocked on the correct door! If she should arrive at Tavish’s room by mistake… Muria shuddered. She had however asked a maid, giving a description of her brother and enquiring as to which room he had been show to. Ewan was the kind of man that women took note of, so Muira didn’t doubt the young woman’s instant answer.
She still couldn’t completely fight down the tremor of fear that griped her heart as she knocked on the door however, what if the maid, like so many people at Eilean Donan, resented her enough to play a cruel trick and give her the wrong information? When her brother’s voice called for her to enter however, Muira sagged in relief and silently told herself off for being so foolish.
“Muira,” Ewan’s face cracked into a wide grin as she opened the door and stepped inside the small, but comfortable, room that her brother had been allocated. “You’re looking well,” he said, slowly, as if he had expected her to look terrible.
“I am well,” Muira immediately assured him, which caused her brother to raise a wary eyebrow. He marched across the room towards her, from where he had been standing by the window, and then pulled his sister into a fierce hug that nearly stole her breath (and cracked her ribs).
“You’d tell me if you weren’t, wouldn’t you, carrot?” he demanded.
Muira didn’t know how to answer the question. She and her brother had always been close, and Ewan had always been protective of her, overly so at times, but that was all altered now. She was Lachlan’s wife before she was Ewan’s sister, Muira was slowly coming to realise, and while her brother’s presence was unarguably a comfort, she couldn’t look to him to fight her battles now.
“I’d tell you if I wasn’t,” she assured him, still hating that she was bending the truth. “Now can you let go of me before you crush me to death?” she teased, poking her tongue out and struggling free of Ewan’s tight bear hug.
“Oh aye, I like that!” Ewan snorted, feigning an expression of deep offence. “I ride half way across the country-”
“It’s hardly half way across the country!”
“-to make sure that my baby sister is all right-” Ewan continued, as if he hadn’t heard Muira’s interruption. She quickly made another one:
“And I’m hardly a baby!”
“-and this is the thanks I get!” Ewan finished, but there was absolutely no venom to his outburst. As if to prove it, he patted Muira affectionately on the head (while she tried to bat his hands away in irritation) before flopping down on the soft double bed in the centre of the room.
&nbs
p; “Thank you,” Muira pouted, hurrying over to the mirror to try and straighten the mess Ewan had made of her hair. Her brother chuckled, and was then silent for a few minutes before he spoke again.
“So?”
“So?” Muira echoed, casting a glance over her shoulder at the bed. Ewan rolled his eyes and sighed in heavy, hard done by manner.
“So how have things been?” he asked, turning suddenly serious. “You might try and write more often you know,” he scolded. “One letter father’s had off you, he’s worrying himself grey.”
“He was already going grey before I left,” Muira pointed out, smiling slightly, but she did heed her brother’s censure. “I’m sorry, I’ll write more often.”
Ewan gave a grunt of appeasement. “Lachlan treating you well?” he pressed, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Ewan,” Muira sighed, avoiding the question. She hoped that her brother wouldn’t realise that that was what she was doing. “Surely you didn’t ride ‘half way across the country’,” she said, mimicking him, “to try and pick a quarrel with my husband?”
“Of course! If it’s warranted,” Ewan nodded firmly.
Muira groaned and threw her hands in the air. “You’re not to cause any problems, Ewan!” she told him firmly, poking a violent finger in his direction. “I’ve worked very hard to try to get the people here to accept me and-”
“And how’s that going?” Ewan asked, his voice becoming gentler.
Muira hesitated. “Slowly,” she confessed honestly. “But I think I am making progress,” she added hurriedly.
Ewan nodded. “I’m really proud of how you’re handling all of this, Muira,” he said warmly. And Muira knew then that it would be absolutely impossible to confess the truth. She had protected him from the truth about Tavish-she could do the same again.
“Thank you,” she murmured, sitting down on the stool that sat in front of the dressing table. “So, do you know why you’re here?” she asked curiously, wondering if Ewan would be prepared to tell her more than Lachlan had. Her brother frowned however.
A Beautiful Lie (The Camaraes) Page 24